


3 AM Waffles

by AddictedtoFiction03



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands in love, Ian's hungry, M/M, Mickey is the best husband, Mild Sexual Content, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Romantic Fluff, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29673603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddictedtoFiction03/pseuds/AddictedtoFiction03
Summary: Ian wakes up for a midnight snack and it turns out two is better than one sometimes, especially when it's his husband.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 4
Kudos: 180





	3 AM Waffles

Waffles. Waffles. Waffles

It is in the middle of the night, and the only thing that is on Ian’s mind is waffles. The thought of these evil little breakfast delights forced their way into his dream. What had he been dreaming out moments before their little intrusion? He has no fucking clue. Ian is sure that it was a pretty good one too. It was a very mean interruption too. Ian is supposed to be in bed snuggled up against his husband. That said husband is currently spread out in their bed like a fucking octopus, sleeping peacefully for once. However, the redhead’s stomach is simply not allowing him to enjoy that pleasure but making him look for joy somewhere else. And that somewhere is in the kitchen, and that is where he is going. Slowly but surely.

Ian bites his lip as he reaches the stairs that will take him to the kitchen. He uses his hand to guide himself because he doesn’t want to turn on a light and wake up the whole fucking house. The house will fill up with too many extremely grumpy people, and Ian doesn’t want to deal with those grumpy people either. His very own grumpy self is enough for him at the moment. Also, he doesn’t want the whole house to raise is because they will suspect that he is fuckin’ manic again. That is something that he doesn’t need because then Ian will have to spend the next hour or so trying to convince his family that he isn’t manic or having them watch his every waking moment like a hawk on a hunt. It would only be another battle he will lose because it will only end with Ian pissed the fuck off, which will make matters even worse for him. Apparently, in this fucking family, Ian feeling a little happy is enough to ring people’s warning bells. And Ian fucking hates it.

There are times in the past when the little light switch in his brain flipped up, and he didn’t catch it until a major red flag waved its ugly head, causing a dose of reality to slap Ian across his face. This was mainly at the beginning of his bipolar journey when it was very new to him. But now, Ian has been playing this game for a while now. Ian also has become more self-aware of his mood changes. His energy levels have been the same for the last several weeks. He has even dipped into a low. The medtail, Ian likes to call it, is working well with very few side effects other than a constant need to drink water. His light switch has flipped up or down in several months, and Ian hopes it stays that way.

There is no zipping electricity pumping through his veins, filling him up with so much energy it actually hurt Ian to sit still. Ian doesn’t feel the need the pace back and forth because his legs ache with the need to get up and move around every couple of minutes. His mind is free of thoughts racing through so fast that Ian cannot latch on to one. If it is something important, Ian has to write it down because he wouldn’t remember it later. Nor has Ian felt an overwhelming sense of irritation or anger, causing him to clench his fists or blast anyone within ten feet of him for no reason. So no, Ian is not manic. He is just fucking hungry and has a massive craving for waffles. What is wrong with that? 

But Ian knows his family, and they would be freaking out right about now if they knew he was awake. Ian knows they care, but sometimes he wishes that they would just let him be.

“Son of a bitch!”

Ian hisses when a sharp pain tears through his foot, pulling him from his inner thoughts when a toe collides with something hard that is calling that stair its home for the time being. He picks his oversize foot up to step over it, but his luck runs out when he loses his balance causing him to tumble the rest of the way down until his ass plants itself on the kitchen floor. Ian sits in stunned silence before falling onto his back, waiting for his rapidly beating heart to calm itself. Ian curses himself for not thinking to grab his phone to use as a flashlight to prevent this fucking mishap.

After a few embarrassing minutes on the floor, thanking the stars that no one was around to witness it, Ian gets himself off the ground and freezes when he hears a creak in the ceiling above him. The redhead closes his green eyes, hoping that his fall didn’t jolt anyone out of their slumber. He didn’t want to explain what had happened to anyone. Pushing his worries out of his mind, Ian makes his way over to the freezer focusing on the very need that is plaguing his life. Dim light floods the kitchen when Ian opens the door to find the waffles. Ian has to dig through several homemade ice packs, some hot dogs, and a freezer bag holding what used to be ground beef before he makes eye contact with a bright yellow box. Ian grins victoriously at his find, snatching the cardboard container only to drop it, jumping six feet in the air when he turns to see Mickey leaning against the stove, watching him.

The freezer door slowly flops closed, bringing the kitchen complete darkness minus the light coming through the windows. “Uh…” Ian stammers, trying to find something to say, but his voice falls quiet on his tongue as his brain tries to catch up. Ian feels like a child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “What are you doing up?” Ian asks in a low voice, taking the sight of Mickey’s handsome features of the soft glow of the light. He can see shadows on the skin of the brunet’s arms since Mickey is only wearing a faded color tank top along with black boxers. Ian doesn’t need to see his hair to know that those dark strands are sticking up in every direction. He has the honor of waking up to that sexy look every morning.

Mickey lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Fuckin’ got woken up by a loud noise, so I came down here to make sure it wasn’t Frank trying to break into the place again. What about you? Why the fuck are you balls deep in the freezer at…” Mickey twists to read the glowing numbers on the microwave. “3 in the morning?”

“Hungry,” Ian mutters, bending over to pick the waffles box off the floor. “Wanted some waffles.”

“In the middle of the night?

“Don’t blame me alright,” Ian holds up the waffle box. “Blame the massive craving that woke me up. Is wanting to eat and crime or something?” Ian asks in a slightly defensive tone.

“No, I just wanna know why the fuck you didn’t wake me up for some waffles.”

“Didn’t want to disturb the hornet nest,” Ian slides into the empty slot next to Mickey. “Besides, you were beginning to sound like a freight train. Something you do only when you are in a deep sleep.” Ian busies himself by sliding his hand to the open side of the box, but it’s snatched from his hands before he has a chance to open the flaps.

“Go sit down.”

Ian blinks at Mickey. “What?” he asks, feeling confused at his husband’s words. He reaches over to take the box from him, but Mickey moves it out of his reach.

“I said go sit the fuck down. Don’t me fuckin’ say it again.”

Ian bites down on his bottom lip to keep himself from smiling at Mickey’s tone, which did not hold one ounce of heat. Ian does what he is told, seating himself in one of the chairs at the counter so he can watch Mickey move around in the yellow glow from the windows.

“Want me to get the light?” Ian asks as the sounds of things falling onto the floor fill the air.

“No. I can see just fine. There is just so much shit everywhere. We really need to take a day and declutter this son of a bitch house. I mean, how much shit do we really need?” Mickey grumbles, popping waffles into the toaster, and pushes the lever down.

Ian props his chin into the palm of his hand, unable to take his eyes off the man in front of him. The scent of cinnamon spread throughout the kitchen just as a plate of piping hot waffles with a mountain of whipped cream drops in front of him. The sight makes the redhead’s mouth water. “How did you know that I wanted whipped cream on my waffles?” Ian teases, grinning at the other man. “What if I wanted them plain?”

Mickey slides into the seat beside him with his own plate of waffles that are flooded with syrup. “Too damn bad. Now shut the fuck up and eat your waffles before I throw them in the trash.”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Fuckin’ watch me, asshole.”

Ian rolls his eyes while he cut into his waffles, taking his first bite. He can’t stop the moan that escapes his throat at the cream’s sweet taste, contrasting with the waffle’s spicy cinnamon. He takes another bite. Then another bite. And another until he is throwing his fork on the empty plate, feeling the tingly sensation of complete satisfaction explode through his body. Now all he wants to do is drag Mickey back up to their room, crawl into bed and sleep until noon.

“Holy shit… I never thought that I would jealous of a fuckin’ waffle, but here I am.”

His husband’s voice slices through his foggy mind, causing Ian to shift his attention to Mickey. The yellow glow washes over Mickey’s face, lighting his blue eyes up that hold a smokey glaze. Ian feels a rush of heat sear his cheeks. His eyes drop to the counter while he pushes the plate away from him.

“Did you eat dinner last night?”

Ian glances over to see concern flooding Mickey’s blue eyes. Concern that only he gets to see, and it makes the redhead’s heart pound away in his chests. Ian nods. “Yeah, I did.”

Mickey twists in his chair, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth. Something he does when he wants to ask a question but isn’t sure that he should if he should ask. “What happened this morning?”

And there it is.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit,” Mickey snaps, sucking a drop of syrup off his thumb. “I’m not fuckin’ stupid. Something happened this morning because when I came down here, the whole room was quieter than a fuckin’ funeral home when an old lady that everyone hates croaks. Something went down while I was in the shower.”

“Did you have enough waffles?” Ian asks, moving to get up, but Mickey places a hand on the redhead’s shoulder before he could leave the scene.

“Mmhmm,” Mickey responds, pushing his plate out of the way, so his elbow doesn’t land into the sticky remains of the syrup. “I knew that you would try to evade the subject, which tells me that I am fuckin’ right as usual. Now, what happened this morning? You ain’t leavin’ here until you tell me.”

Ian drops his head, taking in a deep breath before retelling the morning’s events. “Carl was telling us a story about this dumbass of a robber on one of his calls. And stuff this guy did was so fucking stupid that it was hilarious. So, I was laughing. It was too much, according to Debs, because she asked me if I was feeling okay. Then she thought it was necessary to do a mood evaluation after she asked if I had taken my meds after I snapped at her. Probably just made her suspicions even worse.”

“Fuckin’ Peppermint Patty,” Mickey mutters bitterly, shaking his head at the girl. He swipes a quick palm over his face trying to fight down the urge to go upstairs and drag her out of bed so they could have words. No, they’d be 

“Fuckin’ Peppermint Patty,” Mickey mutters bitterly, shaking his head at the girl. He swipes a palm over his face. “Why do they always have to pull that shit when I’m not around?” The brunet slides the hand sitting on Ian’s shoulder to his neck, stretching his fingers into the frizzy curls at the base of his hairline to try and ease some of Ian’s tension. Mickey knows they won’t do it around him because he will shut the conversation down before it has a chance to move forward.

Ian lets a humorless chuckle fall from his lips. “My mother did tell me one time that I wouldn’t be able to make other people happy. I’m beginning to see what she meant.” Ian winces at the way his voice breaks at the end, feeling the weight of failure pressing down on him as he did in the kitchen yesterday morning.

Mickey swallows roughly against the lump building in his throat at the defeated look on Ian’s face. Even though the woman is six feet under, Mickey feels a fiery rage for her. “Look at me,” he requests softly. When Ian doesn’t budge from picking at the chipped nail on his finger, Mickey reaches over to gather his jaw in his palm, pulling those green eyes to his own. “That fuckin’ bitch didn’t know what the hell she was talking about because that is not true. You make so many people happy. You make your family happy, and you make me happy. You are the only thing that has ever made me happy. The reason she said that is because she didn’t know what it was like to be truly happy, Ian.”

Ian feels his eyes warm over. “Feeling a little bit of happiness means I’m manic, remember?” he sniffs.

“Stop,” the brunet soothes, running the pad of his thumb over Ian’s cheek. “Fuck Debbie and what she thinks or any of them. You are allowed to happy, Ian. You are allowed to have fun and enjoy yourself without someone having to think about your bipolar being an issue. I know you don’t like being reminded about your meds, but I only do it because I don’t want you to think you have to battle it on your own. In sickness and in health, right? I worry about it because it’s my job to worry about you.”

“Well, I don’t want you to think that you have to take of me.”

Mickey snorts at this. “Well, too bad bitch. You better get fucking use to it because I’m going to be taking care of you when your freckly ass is old and gray.”

Ian chuckles, leaning over to press his lips against his husband’s. Mickey tightens his hold on Ian’s jaw, kissing him back with gentle sweeps of his own, sucking on Ian’s lower lip wanting a small taste that is all Ian. Ian pulls back from the sweet kiss, and Mickey can see humor dancing in his eyes. “Old and gray, huh? Sounds like you are taking a page from my old playbook,” Ian says, his breath tickling the brunet’s lips.

“I shouldn’t be too disappointed since you have plenty of experience with grandpa fucking,” Mickey teases, pressing a small kiss to the corner of Ian’s mouth. This earns him a sharp poke in the side that has him squirming away from Ian’s seeking finger. “Hey, no poking me.” Yes, Mickey is ticklish, but that doesn’t mean he wants the entire fuckin’ world to know about it. Especially the ginger asshole in front of him, even though Mickey loves his redheaded idiot like crazy. He is pretty sure that Ian knows that he’s ticklish, but the Irish fucker can be smart when he wants to be.

The redhead feels his eyebrows full a Mickey stance. “I thought you like me poking you,” he draws lazily, trailing his hand down the plane of Mickey’s chest, and his eyes lock on the slight bulge in Mickey’s boxers. “Did the grandpa talk turn you on? Do I need to worry about you trading me in for an older model?”

Mickey snorts. “Fuck you. I’m never trading your ass in for another model. I’ve been turned on ever since I watched you inhale waffles like they were crack. Those moans you were making revved me the fuck up.”

“Watching me eat is a turn on for you, huh?” Ian runs the tips of his fingers along the soft skin of Mickey’s exposed leg, pressing a quick kiss to his nose, trailing his lips across the skin of his cheek to his jaw. Ian turns to open mouth kisses when he reaches Mickey’s neck, taking a moment to breathe in the scent he loves so much.

“Everything you do turns me on,” Mickey sighs, tilting his head back, allowing Ian better access to his neck. “Damn, Ian,” he groans when he feels the snag of Ian’s teeth that is followed by a gentle swipe of his tongue his bite. Heat floods Mickey’s body before shooting south like a speeding bullet causing his boxers to tighten even more. He pulls on Ian’s face bringing his lips back to his. “Fuckin’ want you.” Their lips clash together hungrily, parting to get the taste they both crave. Mickey moans into the redhead’s mouth when Ian slides his to the back of his head, and he feels those nails scrape against his scalp.

Ian pulls back to look into Mickey’s smokey blue gaze. “Since you took such great care of me by making me waffles,” he pants heavily. “I think it’s my turn to return that favor and take care of you. Wanna head upstairs so I can follow through.”

“Way too fuckin’ far.”

“Couch is free.”

Ian finds himself being pulled out of his seat and the dirty grin on Mickey’s face tells him that he is totally on board with his suggestion. Their lips meet in another hungry kiss that is all tongue. Mickey yanks Ian’s t-shirt over his head while he pushes Ian through the kitchen until he is flat on his back on the couch. Ian feels around in the couch cushions until he finds what he is looking for and pulls it out.

“I knew it was still in here,” Ian waves a small bottle of lube at Mickey.

Ian is awarded the sight of Mickey pulling his tank top off before he crawls up the length of Ian’s body until he is straddling the redhead’s hips.

“And I knew I knew I fuckin’ married your ass for a reason,” Mickey says, closing the distance between their lips, and Ian allows himself to drown in the driving force that is his husband.

**Author's Note:**

> Just something that came to my mind and wanted to see where it would go and I'm happy with the results.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy.


End file.
